


is it the shirt?

by theroadverytravelled



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Harry is overwhelmed, Liam wears a mesh shirt, M/M, Mild Smut, Zouiall are fooling around back at the hotel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:56:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3893791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theroadverytravelled/pseuds/theroadverytravelled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry didn't think he had any feelings about mesh until it involved Liam. (alternatively - writing Harry overwhelmed and bumbling for giggly clueless tipsy Liam is really fun)</p>
            </blockquote>





	is it the shirt?

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr user chicaalmighty made a [devastating lirry manip](http://theroadverytravelled.tumblr.com/post/116744837291/chicaalmighty-lirry-look-so-good-together-fuck) and i had to respond. i also would like to blame [di](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosaur/profile) for this. 
> 
> original tumblr post [here](http://theroadverytravelled.tumblr.com/post/116744837291/chicaalmighty-lirry-look-so-good-together-fuck).

Harry taps his fingers against the glass in his hand, fingertips dragging through the condensation every second pass. He keeps thinking he should take a sip, but that trips over the thought that he should stop bouncing his leg under the table and that gets him right back to he should stop staring holes into Liam across the dance floor. 

He should. Everyone else is staring too, he knows this too, somehow, just on sense alone, his special Liam sense he’s suddenly entirely too aware of, red hot thrumming under his skin. Liam’s got his arms above his head, hips swivelling loose circles, and the shirt. The bloody shirt. Shiny and slippery over the planes of his torso, sheer over his tight white tank, the 79 moving over his chest, and under that ridiculous face. His eyes are crinkled and he’s smiling. He’s _smiling_. Like he does when Louis makes a dirty joke. Like he does when Niall does a silly voice. Like he does when Zayn hums along to the radio in the car.

Harry’s fingers stop. Across the floor Liam giggles, hands coming down to cover his mouth, wrist against nose. And suddenly Harry’s up and walking, wiping his hands on the denim across his thighs, sober and dizzy both. 

“Hazzaaaaaa!!!” Liam’s eyes all but disappear as he spots Harry, hands reaching out and catching at Harry’s shoulders. Liam’s own shoulders look even better up close, broad and big and sturdy. Harry’s hand rests on Liam’s hip, he needs to touch this mesh, feel it instead of just looking at it like he’s been doing all night. The people around Liam laugh, pulling back, turning to each other, disappearing into thin air, who cares. The tops of Liam’s cheeks are stained a very pleasing red, and Harry wants to touch touch _touch_ , wants to press a thumb to it, wants to run his finger nails over the chevrons, wants to nuzzle into Liam’s stubble just a couple days old, wants to lick that bottom lip, bite into that collarbone he can see just hiding in the shadow of the shirt as he looks down. Harry wants to rip this mesh to shreds with his bare hands, most importantly.

Liam surges forward to be heard, breath warm and wet by Harry’s ear. “Y’alright? You having fun? I’m having such a good time, mate!” He lets go to do a little dance, shoulders rising and falling, his hands in fists by his head as he shimmies. He looks ridiculous. Harry’s dying.

“I want to go, actually,” his throat is dry as he pulls his voice out, gravelly and rough. “Come with?”

Liam’s expression falls immediately, eyebrows knitting. “You feeling ill? What happened? Paps get in here?” His hands brush over Harry’s shoulders, his arms, as if he’s looking for damage and Harry has to fight not to shudder. He grabs them instead and pulls Liam forward, ready to jump out of his skin. “No - no, I’m fine. Just…come with me.” 

Harry staggers a little bit with the weight of Liam’s body suddenly pressed along his back, an arm slung easy over his shoulder, palm flat and low against his chest, right over where his moth is. He feels Liam rubbing his head against the side of his - nodding. “Okay mate, we can bring the party back to mine, hey?” His voice is light, like it’s all a joke like he’s indulging Harry like he’s actually planning a rave for two, but underneath it there’s that thread of reassurance of _it’s okay I’m here_ , and Harry can’t help it, he shudders then.

“Where’d you get the shirt?” He blurts out, making eye contact with Paddy at their booth on their way out. Liam’s still hanging on to him, his cheek against Harry’s shoulder like they’re cuddling.

“Caroline had it out for Nialler, mate - might’ve been as a joke, Lidia looked a second away from laughing the whole time. Niall wasn’t having it.” 

Harry can only hum a response as they walk out, their team falling in like magic, like they always do. The car’s gonna be here, and then Harry’s gonna - he’s gonna -

“Looks good on me, though - you reckon?” 

Harry can see Paddy headed for the car coming up to the curb, but he turns to face Liam. Flushed, smiling, pleased. He’s looking down at the 79, tugging it a little away from himself, as if suddenly conscious of it on him for the first time all night. He looks up at Harry, stiff and silent, and cracks a smile. He grabs on to the front of his jeans and does that move he does all the time onstage, except now he’s not singing the lyrics to one of their songs, he’s going -

“Feelin’ myself, I’m feelin’ myself, I’m feelin’ my, feelin’ my -” and bursting immediately into a hiccupy laugh and Harry feels the blood drain from his whole upper half, startling when Paddy puts a large hand on his lower back and starts nudging him towards the car. Liam is right next to him, the ghost of the laugh dying away as he frowns again.

“You - are you - you look actually proper ill mate. My dancing can’t be that bad,” he’s still trying, concern warring with doubt. “Is it the shirt? You not into it? Should I give it back to Niall?”

And then finally, finally, the car door slams shut and the wheels are turning below them carrying forward and Harry feels every scrap of tightness leave him and he unfurls onto Liam, unrolling and unrolling and unrolling, lips sucking a bright bruise right on his neck.

“Fuck - Liam, _fuck_ -” He has one hand ripping open Liam’s pants and the other under his shirt scrabbling for a nipple, he’s breathing harsh against Liam’s skin everything so loud now. “ _imintoitimintoitimintoit_ I’m so fucking into it.”

It’s some kind of town car with a wide back seat and a partition - Harry can’t be sure it was up when they got in but it’s up now, so he gives up on the nipple and slides down to kneel on the floor, wrenches Liam’s legs open, looks up to his slackjawed awe, pupils blown even as his eyes dart nervously between Harry’s every movement. When he sees the pink of Liam’s tongue flick out to lick his lips, he finally rips down the zip and gets a hand around Liam, rings still a little cold from his undrunk glass.

Liam hisses low. “Fuck Harry, here? Now?” 

Harry feels wild, more awake than he’s felt all day. He keeps tugging roughly at Liam’s jeans with his other hand. “Yeah yeah yeah, fuck Liam, _please_.”

“Alright, babes, alright, here -” Liam’s suddenly awake too - moving fast to get his pants right down to his ankles, one hand almost going to cup Harry’s head to guide him before pausing and going to the hem of his shirt.

Harry nearly dislocates his own arm stopping this even as his other hand struggles to undo his own flies - why can’t he multitask? - his grip tight and probably painful around Liam’s wrist. “No - keep it.” He keeps his eyes locked onto Liam’s as he guides one of his large hands back to his head, burying it in his hair. “Keep it on.”


End file.
